


This is how the world ends...

by kuhekabir



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drugged Sex, Drugs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape/Non-con References, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-29 04:56:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuhekabir/pseuds/kuhekabir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After some disastrous advise from Mycroft, which Sherlock should’ve known better than to accept, he embarks on yet another doomed mission when he has to team up with Sally Donovan of all people. Lost in the woods with Moriarty on their heels, will the world really end if Sherlock actually finds common ground with the woman who always calls him <b>freak</b>? And what about John? Will he still be there when he gets back to him? Or will he make like everyone else in Sherlock’s life…run for the hills and never come back?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The main pairing in this story is Sherlock/John but it will start out with Sally and Sherlock managing to become...less hostile and then actually friends.
> 
> Also, there are hints of past non-con / dub-con due to drugs in Sherlock's past and one reference to rape. Nothing explicit at all but it is still there so if this isn't your cup of tea, please consider this.
> 
> You can also follow this story at LJ: [HERE for Chapter 1](http://kuhekabir-fics.livejournal.com/114595.html#cutid1)

“You can’t honestly be suggesting what I think you are…” Sherlock eyed his brother who calmly returned his gaze. “You can’t seriously be saying I should sleep with John!” If there was a slight hitch to Sherlock’s tone then this was surely justified because…well…the idea was ludicrous!

“I find it interesting that your mind immediately went to this topic,” Mycroft finally answered, still looking calm and serene, eying Sherlock as if he was interesting piece of a puzzle.

Despite his best efforts, Sherlock squirmed.

“If you employ your brain, you will realize I said no such thing,” Mycroft continued.

“But…” Sherlock spluttered. There was no one who could rile him up this good without even trying. Maybe siblings did have some sort of magic buttons they could push, driving their younger brothers bat shit insane. No, Sherlock clenched his fingers, hitting Mycroft would only proof some obscure point and he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing how he had hit a nerve.

“It can’t have escaped your attention that John is attracted to you,” Mycroft continued and for a split second Sherlock avoided his gaze before he looked up again. “I am sure, unless you manage to do something totally horrific, he will always be your friend but you aught to know you won’t have his undivided attention for long.”

Sherlock crooked his head. Where was Mycroft going with this? He didn’t like being left floundering.

“He’s a young man in his prime. He’s attracted to you now but how long do you think this will last without any hint of approval from you? Eventually he’ll turn his gaze elsewhere and I’m sure you noticed, he isn’t hard on the eyes either. He will find a suitable companion and then you would have to get used to sharing him. You won’t be the only one holding his attention anymore.”

Sherlock cringed. He clearly recalled the early debacle when John had tried to date…what’s-her-name…and he hadn’t liked it one bit.

“Don’t you think it’s time for you to get over yourself and act on your feelings?”

Sherlock scoffed, straightening his back.

“I wouldn’t be suggesting this if I didn’t know you cared for him. I can see the signs, little brother, and you’re simply too repressed to act on them. You like John. Do something about it before someone else will!”

##

“You really are a freak, you know that, right?” Sally Donovan was muttering under her breath, glaring at Sherlock as if this mess was his fault!

He ignored her.

The loud droning of the engines was annoying and not helping his aching head. The pilot must have either gotten his licence in a lottery or he was aiming for the biggest turbulences around…either way, Sherlock’s confidence in his skills wasn’t great. After yet another vicious shake, he stumbled sideways, barely managing to catch himself before he crashed face first into the wall of the cargo space.

“What’s your grand plan now?” Sally poked, unable to keep her mouth shut. “This is all your fault, you know. If you hadn’t insisted to go back to the warehouse, I could be enjoying a nice cup of tea right about now…”

“And I wouldn’t be contemplating homicide,” Sherlock grumbled, eyes narrowed.

“What did you just say?”

Sherlock plastered his most angelic look on his face which only got him more narrowed eyes from Donovan.

“I see you two love birds are awake…” Sherlock’s happy thoughts about tossing Donovan’s body out the plane and marvelling at how beautifully his equations of free fall were coming true was cut short by the arrival of a burly man who could be a poster boy for a bully.

“Really?” Sherlock asked, one eye brow raised. “I know you’re a thug with less brains than an amoeba but do you really have to live up to the stereo type?”

For a moment the man glared at him, mouth slack and open before the insult registered. The gun wavered from being pointed at Donovan towards him and the only reason why the guy’s hand was shaking was because the plane was too.

Donovan hadn’t been totally wrong to blame him for this fiasco. They had been awake for maybe ten minutes and so far, Sherlock hadn’t been able to see a way out which didn’t involve hurling himself out of the plane and to his death.

The cargo haul was stripped bare. There were no crates, nothing of any kind which could be used as a weapon and while Sherlock prided himself on his vast knowledge and being a genius, apparently there were still situations were even a quick intellect wasn’t going to do him any favours. But maybe…an idea crystallized itself. Well, not so much an idea as maybe an inkling of a plan…a tiny rose bud about to blossom…

“Well, it was nice chatting to you but I’ve seen enough movies were talking to the hostages never ends well for the guy with the gun…”

Ah, not a complete idiot then, Sherlock reassessed the situation. “Why didn’t you just shoot us in the warehouse then?” he asked. “Wouldn’t it have been easier than knocking us out, dragging us to the air strip and putting us on a plane?”

The thug shrugged. “Sure, but I can’t have your bodies discovered just yet. I don’t know who you are but she’s a police officer and they don’t take kindly to having one of their own shot. I need a few more hours of peace and quiet and then I can finish what I am paid to do…”

The guy gave Sherlock a wink. Not so smart then. He could’ve just shot them, stuffed them in the back of trunk and left them there but instead he was flying them about, wasting precious time which should probably be used for whatever nefarious scheme he was involved him. Still, was he really complaining about not being dead yet? Maybe John did have a point, sometimes stupidity in people might actually come in handy because if the man hadn’t tried to be extra smart then Sherlock would already be looking at life from the other side. And he wasn’t done yet with his work…

The gun moved away from Sherlock and from the tilt of the man’s hand, the stubborn look to his face and the coldness of his eyes, Sherlock deduced that talking time was over.

Donovan tensed, body ready for a fight, preparing for the inevitable impact even though at this close range there was no doubt on Sherlock’s mind what the outcome would be.

The finger crooked on the handle.

The plane shook, taking an unexpected nose dive and Sherlock, on instinct alone, hurled himself towards Donovan, pushing her sideways just as the gun went off. Searing pain in side had him gasping for breath but the distraction had worked. As expected, Donovan wasn’t overly concerned for him, so when he went down, she bounced on the thug and despite her small frame, she was vicious and motivated enough to knock him out good within the span of a few seconds. A few more shots were fired but Sherlock made himself as small as possible and thankfully, he wasn’t hit any further.

The quiet only lasted for a few seconds. Sherlock unfolded himself from his position on the floor, admiring Donovan’s handy work when the plane suddenly took a nose dive. Considering the steep angle, he seriously doubted it was due to turbulence.

Both of them rushed towards the cockpit, yanking the door open.

“You don’t know how to fly a plane, do you?” Donovan asked and Sherlock’s answer was to push into the small space, wedging himself into the pilot’s seat after dragging the dead body out of his way. One of the stray bullets must’ve hit and it was their bad luck which had killed him almost instantly. Couldn’t the bloody bullet have just wounded him?

“I’ll figure it out,” Sherlock mumbled, worrying his lower lip. “Must be logical, right…so if this is…” he was staring at the display, unaware of being alone until he was hauled out of his seat.

“Put this on…” Donovan ordered and because she had flung the item at him, hitting him where he was bleeding rather profoundly, Sherlock did as he had been told on auto pilot.

“What is this?” he was getting sluggish and where those dark dots dancing on his vision?

“Parachute,” Donovan explained, dragging a now resisting Sherlock forward again. He might’ve fantasized about throwing Donovan out of the plane but he had no intention of following.

“Don’t be stupid,” he scoffed. “I can figure this out. There’s no need for such drastic measures…”

Anything else he was about to say was cut short when Donovan opened the hatch and the sudden change in cabin pressure had not only alarms blaring to life but also tilting everything sideways.

“I don’t care, freak,” Donovan exclaimed a bit too happily as she pushed Sherlock out of the plane. “Don’t forget to pull the string!” She shouted after him before joining him in their free fall.

For one precious moment Sherlock brain actually stuttered to a halt as the wind racked on his clothes and on his hair. Then, like a reboot, his brain fired up again, and as instructed, he pulled at the handle, watching his safety net inflate. When he was yanked upwards, he hissed in pain, muttering even more curses under his breath.

Maybe throwing Sally out of the plane had been too good for her. He needed to get more creative and yes, he was going to use her first name from now on because you couldn’t possible get any more intimate with someone than facing death. And no one got away with throwing him out of plane…

##

“Holmes.”

“Holmes!”

“Sherlock!” a female shouted. “Nap time is over. Get me out of here! Freak! Wake up!”

Sherlock didn’t feel inclined to follow any plea for help which started out with insults but her constant yapping was like a sledgehammer on his head. There came a point where he couldn’t ignore her any more so he finally opened his eyes.

He groaned. Bloody light. He closed his eyes again and when he opened them once more, he was blinking rapidly.

Huh…was this an ant crawling across a grass…wait…what?

His eyes criss crossed until he realized he was face first in grass and mud and this was why he was nearly on a first name basis with the tiny ant.

He struggled against the restraints of the parachute until he found the latches to release it. He then twisted out of the construct, hissing in pain as some of the dried blood got ripped from his skin. Darn…he put his left hand over his side, squeezing down gently. He wasn’t surprised when his fingers came away bloody. Never minding inflecting…if he didn’t stop the bleeding of his graze soon, blood loos would be something to worry about.

“Freak!” Sally was back to shouting. “Stop adjusting your clothes and get me down from here!”

Sherlock honestly contemplated leaving Sally where ever she was. Maybe a bear would find her and use her chew toy but unfortunately England didn’t do bears. Mutant ant maybe then?

He followed her constant yapping until he found swinging in the air, caught on some high rising tree branches. He stared before he toppled forward with laughter.

“Is not funny!” Sally protested while Sherlock was clutching his stomach.

“It kind of is,” he protested before he got back up on his feet, making his way towards her. “Raise your hands,” he mimicked the motions, “Press down here,” he pointed and he was rewarded with a squeal as Sally was released from the parachute, falling towards the ground.

“You could’ve warned me,” she complained as she got onto her feet.

“Why?” he inquired. “You threw me out of a plane.”

“I saved your life…”

“Hm…” he hummed. “I would’ve been able to find a way to fly the plane and land us somewhere save…”

“Sure,” Sally’s tone indicated she was now talking to a crazy person. “And while we crashed, you would have magically sucked in the knowledge on how to fly a plane mid air…I see…didn’t know you were a knowledge sucking vampire…”

“That’s…” Sherlock complained, lost for words.

“Illogical?” Sally offered with a wicked grin. Why was she laughing at him? Was this amusing? Sherlock’s lips twitched. He did have a sense of humour but most people never got to see it and if they did, they usually didn’t think there was anything to laugh at. Who knew he would actually be able to share anything with the woman who had done nothing but insult from the moment they met?

“Do you think the plane went down somewhere save?” Sally was now changing topic and Sherlock nodded.

“While sailing through the air,” he answered, lips still twitching. “I got a good look and we’re close to the sea. I think their plan was for them to shoot us and them dump us over the ocean.”

“But London is close to the sea…we’ve been in the air for at least ten minutes and we were still flying over land…”

Sherlock shrugged. He didn’t like to admit it but there was always a point in the investigation where he was forced to admit that some questions couldn’t be answered with logic because the people in question simply weren’t acting rational at all.

“Like I said,” he replied. “He should’ve just shot us in the warehouse and stuffed our bodies in the trunk of his car. A good saw would’ve easily been obtainable and with out limbs cut off, we would’ve easily fit…”

“I see you’ve given this some thought…” Sally commented dryly.

Sherlock shrugged. So what if he had? He couldn’t very well be good at solving crimes if he didn’t occasionally indulge himself, right?

“Knocking us out, putting us on a plane and flying us towards the other coast to dump us into what is probably the Irish Sea…well,” Sherlock paused for a moment. “This was either the stupidest plan or the most brilliant one because…”

“Because no one in their right mind would think of it?” Sally finished his sentence for him and Sherlock reeled. Only John was allowed to do that!

“Anyway,” he ignored the point. “We might not technically be in the middle of nowhere but I didn’t see any dwellings nearby either.”

“So I guess we simply head this way then,” Sally randomly pointed towards a direction.

“South is probably a good idea,” Sherlock nodded, raising his left had covertly to press against his side. Thankfully his dark shirt and jacket were hiding the blood stains but even if he could keep this from Sally there would come a point in time when he wouldn’t be able to continue. He was already feeling weak in the knees and his vision was getting a bi fuzzy at the edges.

Never mind the throbbing pain…

“Let’s go then,” Sally declared, starting to march into the direction she had pointed at earlier.

Sherlock followed a few paces behind, steps carefully measured. If Sally noticed anything was amiss, she didn’t comment on it.

##

“How long do you think you can keep pretending you weren’t shot?” Sally asked out of the blue a good while later.

Sherlock grumbled, step faltering and out of nowhere, a steadying hand grabbed onto his shoulder, gently pushing him to the ground. “I’m fine,” Sherlock protested. He didn’t need any help and he most certainly didn’t need Sally’s help.

“You saved my life,” She said and with a put upon sigh, Sherlock raised his eyes, looking straight at her.

“You’re delusional,” he replied. “I did no such thing.”

“So you didn’t push me out of harm’s way, getting shot in the process?” she challenged and since she wasn’t completely wrong, Sherlock stayed silent for a moment.

“I needed to distract him…”

“Of course,” Sally humoured him. “Saving my life was an accident…just part of the grand plan to get me to knock the guy out and then to crash the plane with us in it. Am I right?”

Sherlock chose to stay quiet.

“Let me see.”

“I don’t think…”

“Be quiet,” She ordered, pushing his hand away and lifting up his shirt. “It’s a graze…”

“Thank you for the observation,” Sherlock commented dryly. “I wouldn’t have been able to figure this out by myself…”

“Oh shut up,” Sally replied with no heat in her voice. “Here,” She took off her scarf. “Put this around your waist and tie it up. Might put some pressure on it.”

Sherlock eyed the item in question as if it would reel its head and bite him but in the end, he took it, wrapping it around his waist and tying it off around the still bleeding wound. “The wound will need to be cleaned…” he started to say but Sally shrugged.

“One problem at a time, right? For now, we need to stop the bleeding. We can worry about the rest later.”

“I think we should spend the night here,” Sally continued. “There’s an old hunting lodge over there and we’re already loosing light.”

“We can’t be far from the road,” Sherlock protested. “When I was falling…”

“Yes, yes,” Sally interrupted him. “I’m sure you’re right but how far do you think we’re going to get in the darkness?” She looked upwards at the grey clouds. “And unless English weather has changed drastically, I think we’re in for some rain. You’re in no condition to stumble across the country side in the rain and in the darkness and frankly, my ankle wouldn’t appreciate it either.”

Sherlock swallowed hard, eyes darting towards Sally’s ankle before nodding. He hobbling had become more profound lately but he hadn’t commented on it because she hadn’t brought it up either.

“Fine, let’s spend the night here then,” Sherlock agreed.

“It’s a pity they didn’t leave us the phones,” Sally complained and Sherlock agreed. Their abductors hadn’t tried to be too clever but unfortunately they hadn’t been totally stupid. Sherlock grunted his agreement.

They had just ducked into their shelter when the first fat rain drops started to fall. They huddled together for warmth and thankfully, only a few drops managed to get through the thick wood. This was way closer than he would’ve ever imagined being to Sally Donovan and considering how tense and uncomfortable she looked, she must be wholeheartedly agreeing with him.

“So,” She drew out the word. “How come John didn’t accompany you to the warehouse?”

Sherlock chose to stay silent but unfortunately this didn’t deter Sally. Like a dog with a bone, she smelled something of importance so she dug in her heels.

“Lestrade ordered me to come with you because he didn’t want you running around on you own at an active crime scene but why wasn’t John with you?”

Silence.

“Oh come on,” Sally wheedled. “Did you two have a falling out? Did he finally come to his senses and left you?”

Sherlock tensed. She was hitting closer to home than he liked.

“My brother is an idiot,” Sherlock said instead, words rolling off his lips as if his brain had somehow forgotten to put a stop to them. “He said I should sleep with John if I didn’t want to loose him. And look! I lost him anyway…great plan…” Sherlock spit out the last part.

For a few seconds stunned silence reigned before Sally had digested the news.

“So you and John…?”

“Do you need me to draw you a picture?”

“Would you?” Sally shot back. “You might be a freak but you are easy on the eyes and it isn’t just men who like to watch two women in action together. Women like watching men too and there’s something to be said about you and John…”

“You…”

“Freak?” Sally offered up with humour which stunned Sherlock into more silence. “So you were afraid of loosing John and you slept with him and he walked away anyway?”

“Well,” Sherlock huffed, a hiss of pain escaping his lips as he shifted and upset the fragile balance of his make shift bandage. “I’ve known he was attracted to me for some time. The signs were all there. The increased heart rate every time I got too close. The dilated pupils. He constantly wet his lips too and he wasn’t really subtle about staring at me in the mornings either…”

“So what happened?” Sally prompted. “You didn’t just sleep with him to keep him, right? I mean, I do call you all kinds of names but I wouldn’t have though you’d be this stupid…”

“No,” Sherlock interrupted her. “I like John. I just don’t care…”

“For sex?” Sally offered up helpfully.

Sherlock glared at her. “Mycroft knows my reservations but…”

“So you did something you weren’t totally on board with and John found out and he’s now rightfully mad at you.”

“Well…” Sherlock hedged. It wasn’t as if he didn’t find John attractive. But the very idea of letting someone else touch him, of making him loose control and of him submitting, well, the thought alone was off putting enough to chase all other thoughts out of his brain.

“Let me tell you something,” Sally leaned in. “You saved my life today when you didn’t need to. He would’ve been distracted enough with shooting me and with the turbulence, you would’ve still gotten your opening. But you chose to help me instead and I’m woman enough to admit when I’ve been wrong. I still think you’re a freak but I can’t call you heartless any more.”

“Thanks?” this was yet again one of those moments were John’s helpful little hints would come in handy.

“So I’m going to give you some advise,” She continued. “Even us idiots can tell that John cares about you. Using him like this was the worst thing you could have done…”

“But…” Sherlock protested. He didn’t use John. John got what he wanted, didn’t he? And it wasn’t as if Sherlock had not enjoyed it…just maybe not as much as John had.

“How did he find out anyway you weren’t into it?

Sherlock chose to stay silent.

“You told him, didn’t you?” She concluded a few seconds later. “Why would you do that?”

Sherlock still refrained to comment.

“You told him,” Sally spoke very slowly now, as if her thoughts were crystallizing the moment the spoke them out loud. “You told him because you saw how much he cared and you didn’t want to lie to him. But you failed to take into considering how it must look from his end and now he isn’t talking to you.”

“Hm…”

“You’re not the only one you can deduce things,” Sally’s voice held a hint of victory which had Sherlock’s hackles rising. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this but you are quite an idiot when it comes to human interactions.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Sherlock defended himself, finally lifting his eyes off the ground to glare at Sally. Their eyes held.

“You clearly are if you failed to see how hurtful it must’ve been to John to figure out you didn’t enjoy you little trust. Did you fake it?”

“Of course not!” Sherlock exclaimed. “Unless you’re even blinder than I think you are, you must’ve realized I’m a man…”

“Hard to miss,” Sally muttered. “Only men can be this obtuse when it comes to feelings…”

“Hey!” Sherlock protested. “If I didn’t enjoy the encounter on some level, I wouldn’t have become hard and John would’ve noticed sooner!”

Sally blushed.

Sherlock frowned. Why was she blushing?

“I just don’t like being touched…” Sherlock added, mouth falling shut rapidly. Had he said too much?

Sally seemed to be satisfied too because she didn’t push any further. They stayed silent until they both drifted off into an unease sleep with the rain coming down heavily around them. The damp air soon filled up their little shelter and by the time dawn broke, they were both soaking wet even though they hadn’t technically been out in the rain.

“Fucking humidity,” Sherlock cursed which got him a soft laugh from Sally. “What?” he challenged but Sally only shook her head at him.

“Let’s see if we can find that road and a phone,” She declared. “I wouldn’t mind a hot bath and some food.”

Since agreeing with Sally would probably end the world, Sherlock chose to stay silent.


	2. Chapter 2

If stumbling along had been a painful exercise yesterday, it was even less pleasant today. Sherlock firmly believed in mind over matter and since his body was a form of matter, _he_ should be the one dictating the rules and not the other way around.

Unfortunately, his body didn’t seem to have gotten the memo.

He wiped some sweat off his brow, noting his heated skin. Fever; nothing too alarming yet but its sudden onset wasn’t a good sign. If they didn’t find a phone and help soon, there might come a point where he wouldn’t be able to keep going, regardless of how much he willed it so.

“See?” Sally cooed. “I was right. There’s a road.”

“Splendid,” Sherlock quipped. “What were the chances of you being right by default? I mean, whoever heard of something as outlandish as roads being built in our country…”

“Oh shut it,” Sally replied. “And there’s even a car!”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Despite his rather realistic outlook on things, which according to Mycroft meant he was a pessimist, he couldn’t quite avoid soft tendrils of hope springing to life.

He clutched at his side, breathing heavily. The car was still too far away to be able to decipher much about the driver. Sally was already in the middle of the road, waving like a lunatic and Sherlock was about to tell her to stop because what self respecting driver would stop for crazy people? Well, something caught his eye and he reacted on instinct. He snatched Sally by the hand, dragging her off the road.

“I don’t think we should draw attention to ourselves,” he whispered even though there was no reason for it.

“Don’t be daft,” she made as if she wanted to push him, aborting the gesture at the last minute when she remembered his injury.

“I…” Sherlock closed his mouth. Was he really going to sink to new lows? “This doesn’t feel right.”

“Feelings? No cold, hard facts?” Sally replied, folding her arms across her chest. “The great Sherlock Holmes can’t provide facts. What has the world come to?” She then proceeded to theatrically fling her arms into the air which had Sherlock’s hackles rising.

“Look,” he spit out. “Where there’s a road, there are houses. We can find a phone somewhere else.”

“So breaking and entering sounds right but waving down a car doesn’t?”

If put like this, it did sound rather odd but Sherlock was now very certain that being here when the car approached would be a very bad idea. And no, he wasn’t basing this on a hunch or on mere feelings along. He trusted his mind to catalogue things, to process them and thanks to his fever, he might not be fully aware what his subconscious had already realized.

“Sally,” he protested but she only glared, jumping out of his grasp and back onto the road.

Sherlock heard tires squeal as he turned around, deciding to make like a rabbit.

A body falling hard on concrete had him nearly pausing and while he couldn’t deny the stab of pleasure at knowing he had been right, right now wasn’t the time the gloat about it.

“Oh Sherlock,” a familiar voice teased. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Far away from you,” he mumbled, breaking into a run when a spark prink at his neck had him stumbling, ground giving out underneath him. His limbs twitched in the fruitless effort to keep moving and his mind was already drawing a blank when he landed hard on the grass.

The only good thing about it was that he was already far too gone to realize how much pain the impact caused.

##

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry…”

The litany washed over Sherlock like waves over sand, providing a calming effect despite the regret audible in the female voice.

He smacked his lips, eyes still closed. His body was way too heavy for movement. His limbs were currently held down with some dead weight and when he risked opening one eye, peaking about, to his dismay he discovered the weight was only in his mind.

Well, what was he waiting for then? If Moriarty hadn’t even bothered to tie him up then he most certainly wasn’t going to stay put and lounge about!

He shifted, trying to roll sideways to get up but he found, apart from some pathetic twitch, nothing seemed to be working.

He tried again, getting a horrid stab of pain for his efforts.

He groaned and Sally finally shut up.

“Sherlock?” she asked and Sherlock went to some considerable effort to force both eyes open and to find her. She was perched on the floor, not too far from him but contrary to his condition, she was chained to the wall. Her hands were tied up with strong rope and they were too far away from her so she couldn’t attempt untying her self. Blasted rope.

“Hm…?” he complained. If wishes were horses…he wouldn’t be here right now. Or at least his mind wouldn’t be dulled with fever because what kind of game could he possibly play when any moment now pink bunnies were going to burst free from their imaginary prison?

Wait a minute. Sherlock’s forehead creased. Despite his rather appalling habits, as per John, he had a good constitution. He didn’t get sick very often, so he was by no means an expert on how he handle fever but he was certain that unless his fever approached alarming heights, he wasn’t supposed to be hallucinating.

“Did he give me something?” he asked. His throat was dry. The world was way too vivid and too dull at the same time. The darkness around them held sparks of light, coming from a window above them to their right. But the dancing tendrils of light didn’t seem right to him.

“I don’t know,” Sally confirmed. “He knocked me out pretty good. I woke up here. But there’s a discarded needle over there…” she used her head to point towards a needle in a nearby corner.

“Could’ve been here a long time,” he reasoned while his body spoke a different tale. “I don’t feel so good,” he complained.

“Can you get up?”

Sherlock tried again but he aborted all movements when there was a rustling of footsteps on the other side followed by a key being turned. The door swung open and for a few precious seconds, Sherlock couldn’t see a thing. The blinding light streaming in from the hallway hurt like hell, sending shockwaves deep into his skull.

Judging from the incoming steps and from the excited breathing, he didn’t need to be able to see to deduce who had entered.

 _James Moriarty._

Why couldn’t some people just drop dead? – he lamented, which was totally unlike him. He enjoyed an intellectual challenge and anyone who knew him would argue that saving lives wasn’t high on his list. To him, it was the puzzle, the game of cat and mouse which had his heart racing and his mind reaching for the stars. If lives got saved in the process, then he would call those a good side product but he wasn’t the world’s only consulting detective because he cared about people. Oh no…and hadn’t he told John that he wasn’t a hero?

But while he did enjoy the challenge presented by Moriarty, his adversary had crossed a line when he had involved John in his games. Sherlock himself was fair game. Other people? Who cared, Sherlock honestly didn’t. But John? John was off limits and by using him, by, for a split second, make Sherlock doubt John’s loyalty to him, the game had moved from enjoyment to nuisance.

He should’ve realized sooner that Moriarty was involved in this. If he hadn’t been so distracted by John’s little tantrum, then he would have put the clues together sooner but hey, he couldn’t go back in time. Sadly even with his considerable intellect, time travel was still something out of his reach.

He snorted…wait…how had he arrived at time travelling? Wasn’t there something else, something more important to focus on?

“Get away from him!”

Sally’s screech worked like a bucket of ice cold water, yanking him back from cloud nine into his weary body.

Hands were on his body, on his shoulders, pushing him back down. When had he sat up? A whiff of a very pricy cologne assaulted his nostrils and shouldn’t he know what brand it was? Moriarty loomed over him and if he didn’t have such a manic, slightly crazy gleam in his eyes, then the man might’ve been considered a passable handsome – by some at least. For Sherlock, he wasn’t blond enough. Or small enough. He didn’t have a compact, soldier body and most importantly, he didn’t have John’s laugh lines or the wrinkles around his eyes. Basically, to sum it up, Moriarty wasn’t John and therefore, Sherlock didn’t like him.

 _Huh…_ interesting fact.

Sherlock’s hands came to rest on Moriarty’s shoulders, attempting to pus the man off him or at least dislodge him because nothing would amuse him more than to see the still smartly dressed man land on his ass on a dirty floor. A soft smile played across his lips as he picture the event in alarming clarity.

A hard slap to his face forced him back to reality and couldn’t he please go back to lala land because while he had been distracted, Moriarty had managed to push his legs apart, inserting one of his own and his knee was now pressing a lot closer to private parts than Sherlock was comfortable with.

 _Interesting_ , Sherlock mused. For all his intelligence, this part he had missed. Of course he was aware that some people found him attractive. Molly’s constant simpering would’ve been a clue if he hadn’t already known about it before. To him, these things didn’t hold any interest but he had made a point of learning how to play up his so called charms because here or there, the need might call for a little seduction to get what he wanted. He had been, by no means, a virgin when he slept with John but he still could count his sexual partners on one hand.

His first time had been mere curiosity. He had been 17 and when the opportunity presented itself in the form of a minister’s daughter, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from analysing if the fantasy would live up to the reality. Weren’t the daughters or sons of priests supposed to be extra wicked? Maybe all the holiness of the parents got to them and Sherlock had decided, on the spur of the moment, to run a little experiment.

Only if pressed, would he ever confirm to having actually also desire the pretty girl because then he would have to admit to being able to succumb to his urges.

The second time, had been a proper experiment at university and with a male. The third one had been a woman again because the data collected the first time was contaminated.

Sebastian had been the forth and a mix of desire for companionship and further researched. To say it hadn’t worked out would be accurate and it had only proven to him that sex, unless engaged in for mere research purposes, never ended well.

John…?

To lay his current problem solely on Mycroft’s feet would be tempting but his blasted brother had been right. And in Mycroft’s defence: he hadn’t told him to confide in John. No, this had been his decision alone because deceiving John as to his real motives would’ve been bad. And it wasn’t as if he had only slept with him to tie him closer to him!

He wasn’t a sexual creature. Sure, he pleasured himself occasionally. He might live by the motto of mind over matter but there were times when denying his body’s urges would be counter productive so he engaged in physical release whenever it became necessary.

John on the other hand was scarily normal when it came to this and blasted Mycroft had been right again, to point this out. And if there was one thing Sherlock knew without a shred of doubt then it was: he couldn’t loose John.

But had he slept with him only to lure him closer? To deceive him?

Hell no!

This was John! The only one who had somehow wormed his way into Sherlock’s, well, he wouldn’t say _heart_ but mind instead but anyway, he _mattered_! As if he would use John for an experiment without telling him! As if he would lie to him knowing John had a different outlook on things!

He might not get other people, sometimes needing John to tell him when he said something not so good but did he care? Of course not! But he couldn’t deny that his chances of getting information out of people had increased ever since he employed a less direct and a more gentle approach.

Anyway, what had been the point? His forehead creased…he was loosing his train of thought and this wasn’t like him…what was going on?

There was yet another slap which brought him back to reality.

“I want you awake for this,” Moriarty cooed and Sherlock blinked, reeling internally when his adversary’s face was way too close for comfort.

Sally was still making screeching sounds from somewhere but it was nothing but background noise to him at this stage.

“Do you remember the last time?” Moriarty continued. “You weren’t much more coherent then either…” the man mused and Sherlock’s confusion increased. What…?

 _Oh…!_

Sherlock stared right back. Their gazes locked and held and Sherlock remembered.

##

“Who are you again?” Lestrade wasn’t trying to be difficult but the umbrella wielding man currently standing in his office was throwing him for a loop.

“My name is Mycroft Holmes,” the older man repeated and Lestrade narrowed his eyes. Sherlock had a brother?

“My people lost track of Sherlock yesterday and have been unable to locate him since then. Do you have any idea of his whereabouts?”

“Huh?” He wasn’t usually this slow on catching on to things but had Sherlock’s brother just honestly admitted to spying on his brother. Lestrade narrowed his eyes. This wasn’t right.

“Please, Detective Inspector, just answer my question.”

Lestrade sucked in a mouth full of air, shaking his head to clear out some cobwebs. “Sherlock went with Sally to check out the crime scene…”

“Yes, I am aware,” Mycroft interrupted. “I’ve had men going over the scene and apart from Sherlock’s phone and a woman’s jacket, nothing else was found. A small, private plane took off from the nearby air strip a few minutes after Sherlock’s phone went dead which leads me to believe they were onboard. I was able to follow its flight path and as you should be aware, the plane crashed late last night. No one survived the impact but with only two bodies found and neither one of them matching Ms. Donovan’s or my brother’s descriptions, the two of them are still about. So what have you done about locating them?”

“Well,” Lestrade bit out. “If you know all of that then what the hell do you need me for? Surely, you can get your own people to check out the area!” He had no clue who this guy was but if he had been able to gather this much information, then what the hell was he doing here?

“Please,” Mycroft said with a pinched look which had all of Lestrade’s hackles rising instantly. Even Sherlock when he was at his worst, hadn’t brought on such a reaction. Sherlock, in many ways, was like some sort of puppy. A violent one, sure, maybe even carnivore and really dangerous but he often didn’t quite realize how out of line his comments were. Things had gotten better with John’s arrival but in any case, his brother knew exactly what he was doing and if this were any other matter, he would just yell at him to go away.

Mycroft continued, “Let’s act like adults here. Do you have any new leads on my brother?”

“Your brother and my missing officer,” Lestrade said to make a point, “are a priority. Assuming they are on foot,” Lestrade shoved a map at the man, “and assuming they aren’t lying dead somewhere, then they should, eventually, make it to one of those two nearby towns.”

“What makes you think they wouldn’t be heading north?”

Lestrade narrowed his eyes. Was he being tested? “Because,” he answered evenly, “I know Sherlock and his freakish mind and even in free fall, he would’ve been able to see that the towns to the south were a lot closer than in the other direction.”

“I see,” Mycroft twirled his umbrella. “You got reports then of two parachutes in the air before a crash…”

“I _am_ a police officer,” Lestrade felt compelled to point out.

“Very well,” Mycroft said slowly, small eyes trained on him and Lestrade fought the urge to squirm.

“If that’s all?” Lestrade tried to prompt the man to leave but he wasn’t moving.

“You found Mr. Lafayette’s body a few hours ago close to the warehouse where my brother was abducted…”

Was this a trick question? When silence followed, Lestrade rubbed his jaw, sighing. “Yes,” he confirmed. “All the evidence led us to believe he was the mastermind behind the smuggling operation…”

“But who would kill him?”

From the way Sherlock’s brother was phrasing the question, Lestrade had the suspicion he already knew the answer.

“If you know something,” he said with some heat, “why don’t you share instead of playing twenty question s?”

This got him a raised eyebrow and a somewhat amused expression.

“Very well,” the man nodded, giving him a searching look before putting his briefcase on Lestrade’s desk, opening it and pulling out a folder.

He placed the folder in front of him as if held highly confidential information and for a moment, Lestrade didn’t want to open it. What if he was going to sell his soul by simply looking?

He snorted at his own foolery but his hands were still slightly shaking when he lifted the top.

He wouldn’t call himself a simple man but his tastes, by some comparison, might be quite ordinary: he liked a good book, movie and nice beer and while he could appreciate art, he wouldn’t call himself a connoisseur or someone could honestly gush over true talent. However, he was still able to recognize raw talent when he saw it and the sketches held in charcoal before him, were clearly done by someone with more than just a lot of talent.

He spread them out, taking in the nuisances, the different shades of black and white and he would never look at black the same way again because who would’ve thought with such a simple colour you could contrast this much?

The images were dark, brooding and scary but what struck him the most was the raw emotion in all of them. Every stroke, every smear seemed to speak to him and his mouth was agape as he stared at them.

He was so mesmerized by the sheer brilliance of the drawings, that it took him a few more seconds to recognize the face staring back at him.

“Moriarty?” he said in disbelief. Now that he had connected the dots, the face was obvious. He was younger but the rather crazy look in his eyes was very aptly captured. “Who did this?”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft simply said and for the first time, Lestrade saw something akin to worry flash across the composed face. “He was 21 at the time. In his rebellious phase.”

Lestrade frowned. This didn’t make any sense. “Wasn’t he still on the drugs then?”

“Yes,” Mycroft confirmed. “I almost lost him then. When I found him, he was in bad shape.”

For a second Lestrade thought he was referring to the drugs but when their eyes locked, he got what Mycroft was saying out loud.

“He was…?”

“Not according to him,” Mycroft answered. “He was totally out of it. He wouldn’t have been able to say no or even swat a fly if he had wanted to. The signs of intercourse were there,” he continued and if there were signs, Lestrade could deduce himself that the sex couldn’t have been loving or kind. “He drew this during his withdrawal. I removed them as soon as I could, not wanting to remind him of what happened and I am not even sure if he recalls what happened.”

“He doesn’t know he met Moriarty years earlier?”

“Did he give any indication otherwise?” Mycroft countered and Lestrade thought about it before frowning.

“No,” he said. “He would’ve said something. To John at least.”

“And Dr. Watson would’ve informed either you and me because looking out for Sherlock is what he does. So it is safe to assume that Sherlock isn’t aware of what happened.”

“You think this is where Moriarty’s obsession with Sherlock started? Back then?” Lestrade grabbed one drawing, waving it in the air like some sort of proof.

“Yes,” Mycroft said without hesitation. “I am sure of it.”

“What has this…oh…” Lestrade was frowning again. “You are showing me these because you think Moriarty killed the Lafayette…”

“Yes,” Mycroft confirmed. “And I think if we don’t find my brother and your missing officer soon, we’ll regret it.”

##

“Sherlock…Sherlock…”

Sherlock twitched. The voice was grating and getting on his nerves.

For a few precious seconds, he was swimming in a haze of nothing before he made an unfortunate move, twisting his body and sending shockwaves of pain through his body.

“Owtsch…” he complained, scrunching up his nose.

His eyes snapped open when he remembered Moriarty and when he…he raised hand, rubbing at his temple. How could he have forgotten that he had been intimate with the lunatic? In his defence, he hadn’t been quite lucid then but surely when they met again, something should’ve clicked in his mind!

“Sherlock!” Sally cried again. “Stop daydreaming and do something!”

“Like what?” he shot back and when she spluttered, he actually smiled.

Regardless of how annoying Sally was, she was right. She was the one tied up and he was the one who wasn’t. If anyone would be able to get them out of here, it would have to be him. Problem was, he wasn’t so sure he could manage moving.

Well, he would try! He steeled himself against the onslaught of pain and then slowly he inched off the floor, crawling towards Sally on all fours. She was staring at him, mouth open.

“What?” he huffed as he was closing in.

“In all my fantasies I’ve had, I never imagined you on all fours crawling towards me…”

“You fantasized about e?” Sherlock asked, raising one eye brow.

“Well,” Sally blushed.

Sherlock finally was there, breathing rapidly. She eyed him quizzically.

“You’re burning up,” she said.

Sherlock ignored her. Who cared if he was running a fever or if he passed out due to the drug. He wasn’t at his best and there wasn’t anything anyone of them could do about it.

He raised a hand, yanking at Sally’s chain.

“Hey,” She complained but he ignored her, twisting the cheap metal bracelet into a tool.

His hands were more than just shaking when he attacked the rope, using the metal to attempt sawing through it.

Sally chewed on her lower lip, her frustration and doubt more than just radiating off her but Sherlock continued with his task even when his fingers went numb and the world started tilting again.

Eventually he had made enough dent in the rope for Sally to yank herself free and when he slumped sideways, staring at the ceiling as if it held the mysteries of life, it was Sally herself who freed her other arm.

“Don’t try the door,” Sherlock mumbled when he could hear her getting to her feet.

“Why?”

“It will be locked and surely someone will be keeping an eye on it. And even if not, I don’t want to risk alerting Moriarty…”

“But…”

“We need to go out the window…”

“Don’t be daft,” Sally retorted. “It’s too high up…”

“Not if I lift you up…”

“You’re in no shape…”

“If we stay here, neither one of us is going to be in any shape at all,” Sherlock bit back, forcing his tired body off the floor. He steadied himself on the wall, giving Sally a meaningful look.

“Yes,” She nodded eventually. “I see.” She quickly moved towards the window which was half the size of a normal window and quite high up.

“I lift you up, you try the latch and crawl through…”

Sherlock didn’t wait for her to comment, he grabbed her hips and despite her squawking, Sally scrambled up the wall, doing as told. She had to fumble with the rusty lock but to Sherlock’s disbelief, it actually opened.

She pushed at it until the window swung outwards and after taking yet another deep breath, he heaved her even higher until her upper body was half way through.

He got kicked in the head for his efforts. He grunted and when she was through he was slumped to the floor.

“Sherlock.” It was getting really irritating to hear Sally calling for him.

“Get your ass up her or I swear to any deity out there, that I will shoot your ass.”

“You promise?” he quipped but since he had no intention of staying behind, regardless of how alluring the dirty floor had become, he pushed any energy he had into getting up.

“Grab my hands…” she was leaning through the opening, reaching out to him and Sherlock wanted to point out how much heavier he was than her and how it would be unlikely for her to pull him out by her own strength when he bit his own tongue.

Their hands met and after taking a deep breath, he pushed himself off the ground. Despite her grunts of pain and him nearly passing out, he somehow managed to get a good way through the window and then it was up to Sally to grab his ass and heave the rest of him through.

The indignity!

When he was lying on the concrete, he was breathing so hard, he was almost convinced his breathing alone would alert Moriarty to their escape.

“Come on,” Sally urged, grabbing him again and at this stage, he more or less followed her command because his body was already shutting down.

“We’re in a town. The window must belong to a cellar. And look,” she was still talking as if he actually cared but her constant yapping was actually soothing him, kind of lulling him into moving along like some sort of hypnotic melody. “The alley leads to a busy street.”

They paused at the corner with Sally peaking out.

He felt her heavy gaze on him before she continued talking. “I don’t think you’ll make it far. We need…ah, there it is…” she said.

She started to pull him across the mostly deserted street and one glance at the sky confirmed it: it was morning. Early still.

A bell jingled as Sally dragged him into a diner.

“Can I use your phone?” Sally asked and then Sherlock lost some time. When he came to again, he was slumped in a chair, face on the table with Sally carting her fingers through his hair.

He wanted to point out how they needed to get further away, how Moriarty wouldn’t be above storming in here and getting them back but before he could form any words, he was blacking out again.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Lights…

Sirens…?

He was being jostled, lifted and then placed on…on…something…

He blinked, staring up at strange faces, unable to connect to the world. His brain, usually so quick to make connections, could barely process what was happening and out of sheer horror, Sherlock closed his eyes, allowing the numbness to take over yet again.

##

He woke an undefined amount later.

He smacked his lips. His throat was dry and before he could voice his need, an ice cube was placed in between his lips. He took it in, allowing the cool, soothing liquid to ease his throat.

“Where…?” he asked, eyes slowly fluttering open. He aborted the question almost instantly when he recognized a typical hospital room. “Oh…”

“John?” he asked, expecting his flatmate to be here. He might be pissed at him, for no good reason, obviously, but surely John would be here.

“He isn’t here.” Instead it was Mycroft’s voice which answered making Sherlock practically yearn for darkness again.

“Don’t…” Mycroft ordered the moment Sherlock tried to fiddle with his IV. “I know you can’t stand hospitals but please, give it at least twenty four hours before you leave against medical opinion.”

Sherlock wanted to protest on principle alone but maybe this once, Mycroft was on to something. His body was still heavy but this time with the good drugs and not so much with fever and whatever Moriarty had injected him with.

He relaxed. He was rewarded with a relieved sigh coming from his brother’s direction.

“If you insist on leaving against your doctor’s orders, promise at least to finish with the antibiotics. Your stitches will need to be taken out in about a week and knowing you, you will do it yourself. But you need the pills to get rid of the infection.”

“Fine,” Sherlock mumbled, words falling on his lips with a lot more ease than he would’ve imagined. He might not like taking orders from Mycroft but when his brother was right, he was right. 

Mycroft gave him a nod, a strange look and then he glided out of the room, leaving Sherlock to his own mind.

He closed his eyes, deciding to not fight the need for sleep for now.

##

He woke up a few more times, even allowed himself to be force fed some alarming green, wobbling food before he fell asleep again for the night. Come morning, he rounded on the first nurse he could find, demanding to be released.

The frazzled woman eventually got him the necessary forms and with his prescription for the necessary course of antibiotics, he eventually wobbled out of the hospital around noon.

Once he got his prescription filled, he made his way back to Baker Street, yearning for some familiarity. 

Silence greeted him when he entered the flat. Mrs. Hudson was off visiting relatives but John still wasn’t anywhere to be found. A quick tour of the flat and of John’s bedroom told him, his friend wasn’t here and the few items of clothes missing, confirmed his suspicion. John had felt to Harry.

He growled at the thought but decided to forgo texting him. If John couldn’t be bothered to get his head out of his ass and at least text him to see if he was fine, then he most certainly wasn’t going to make the first step.

“I thought you could use some food.”

Sherlock startled, nearly injuring himself when he whipped about, staring at Sally as if she was a ghost. He blinked, resisting the urge to rub at his eyes because surely he couldn’t be seeing right.

He was familiar with the notion of burying the hatchet in desperate times and even if he was surprised how well they had gotten on during their ordeal, he hadn’t expected to be seeing her again this soon. And in his flat.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“And here I thought nothing got by you,” she teased, holding up a bag which smelled delicious.

He blinked. “Chinese?” he wasn’t often lost for words but when she nodded, depositing the bag on the table he actually followed and took a seat.

“Here,” she pushed the cartons towards him and after sniffing the offered food and determining it wasn’t poisoned, he actually started eating. John would be proud but frankly, Sherlock didn’t know what else to do.

He eyed Sally warily over his food but all he got was a wide smile.

A startled gasp followed by a thump had him lifting his head.

“Has the world ended?” John asked, staring slightly wide eyed at the table. “Not only are you eating but you are eating with Donovan?”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Sally shot back, putting her carton down and glaring at John.

Since Sherlock didn’t have a decent explanation either, he simply shrugged, shoving another slightly toasted piece of chicken into his mouth.

“I’ll see you later,” Sally turned around, smiling at him and before he could do anything else, she closed the distance, leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek.

“What are you doing?” he whispered when she didn’t pull away straight away. “Are you ill?”

“Trust me, Sherlock. I’m helping you.”

He blinked. What?

She winked at him before rubbing his cheek and practically floating passed John and out of sight.

The woman was mad.

##

“So you and Sally?”

The world really must’ve gone mad if such a ludicrous statement was actually a sentence. He scowled at John who kept on staring at him, folding his arms across his chest in a defensive 

“There is no such thing,” Sherlock denied, evidence to the contrary because regardless of what it might look like, there was no such thing as _Sherlock and Sally_.

“But…” John protested and thankfully Sherlock was saved by the chiming of his phone.

“Excellent,” Sherlock got up with a lot more vigour than he should’ve but he was ignoring the twinges of pain. He was already on antibiotics, what more did the bloody wound want? He wasn’t going to bitch and moan about it and lie helplessly in his bed like some sort of invalid. It was only a graze for crying out loud! “Lestrade has a case…”

He side stepped John when he was trying to reach for him, running down the stairs. If John decided to follow, then so be it.

##

A few hours later Sherlock was sitting in Lestrade’s office, twirling his thumbs because after a disappointing quick case, Lestrade had insisted to meet him back there. John of course had trailed along and was now busy alternating between staring at Sherlock as if he was some curious specimen of new origin and staring at his neatly manicured nails.

Sherlock opened his mouth, about to bark at John to get over whatever was bugging him when Sally sauntered in with Lestrade hot on her heels.

“Here,” She held out a cup of tea to him. “You look a bit peaked. Tea will do you good.”

No sound could be heard but the silence in the room still changed from comfortable to baffled. How did silence manage to do such a thing? Sherlock frowned. Maybe he should run an experiment because if silence wasn’t actually silence…

His thoughts were derailed when Sally shoved the cup underneath his nose.

He took it, eyes narrowed, sniffing the contents. He could use a cup of tea but he was reluctant to take anything Sally was offering. He didn’t quite trust her newfound mother hen attitude because he found no logic behind it. Not too long ago she would’ve gladly shoved him out the window and she was bringing him tea?

She leaned in again, the image of casual intimacy as he placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly. She whispered in his ear. “Trust me. I owe you my life. The least I can do is help you with your love life.”

“What…?” Sherlock wasn’t used to being a step behind, especially to Sally. Love life? She gently butted his head, directing his gaze towards John who was now open mouthed staring at them while Lestrade seemed to be frozen mid step.

Annoyance rose with him. Sally and he might never have been friends but was it this unlikely for them to be cordial with each other that both men had to stare at them as if they were aliens?

“Come on,” Sally smiled mischievously at him. “You’re usually not this slow,” She teased, pulling away.

Sherlock was still staring her, somewhat befuddled before he finally connected the dots. Out of some sort of weird feeling of owning him, Sally was trying to get John jealous so Sherlock could fall back into bed with him. He frowned. Did that usually work?

“Call me…!” she whispered as she walked out of the room, making the typical sign in the air, holding her hand to her ear, making as if she was talking into a mobile phone. Without anything better to do, Sherlock simply nodded.

“Well,” Lestrade cleared his throat. “What exactly happened between you and my officer?”

Sherlock blinked. “She is under the misguided notion that I got shot in order to save her life. If anyone should harbour any feelings towards her, it should be.”

More curious glances so he elaborated. “She threw me out of a plane!”

“And you left me hanging in the tree while you took a nap!” Sally retorted from the outside.

“I didn’t take a nap!” Sherlock shouted back, raising his voice. “I was passed out. And if you hadn’t left your brain at home, you would’ve realized how to get out of the parachute yourself!”

“Says the man who insisted he could fly a plane when he couldn’t even find the seatbelt!”

Sherlock spluttered, making to rise when Lestrade stopped their fight by pointedly closing the door.

“Here,” Lestrade was back to business. He grabbed some paper from his desk, handing some to Sherlock while he gave the rest of them to John. “I think we should talk about those.”

Sherlock stared at his own drawings, Moriarty’s evil face glaring back at him.

_How…?_

Mycroft of course, his brain helpfully supplied. He was like a magpie, never letting go of anything so why should he have binned those drawings when Sherlock had tried to throw them out? He should have burnt them himself but he hadn’t been quite himself back then…

“Is that…?” John’s voice broke through his haze. “I didn’t know you could draw.”

Sherlock shrugged. This wasn’t so much talent as knowing where to put a line or a dot and then emphasize the shadows. Talent had got nothing to do with it. He had an eye for details which was kind of important in his line of work. And besides, he always gave his best to anything he did.

“I haven’t seen you draw since I moved in…do you still do it?”

Sherlock laughed dryly. “Why would I waste my time with doodling about?”

“Well,” John slowly said. “You play the violin whenever you’re upset or when you’re thinking…”

“I…”

“You should keep on going. You’ve got talent…you could make something out of it.”

“Why would I…?” Sherlock asked, dumbfounded. Maybe he did have talent but he wasn’t shoddy when it came to chemistry either and he wasn’t about to try and get a job as a chemist. Many people knew how to sketch but there was only one consulting detective!

“The point is,” Lestrade butted in. “That you met Moriarty long before now…”

“It’s not as if I purposefully left that out,” Sherlock defended himself, hackles rising. “I didn’t know. I wasn’t at my best back then.”

“But you remember now?” John inquired, blue eyes keen, some emotion displayed there which Sherlock couldn’t quite decipher. What did John insist on being such an enigma? Why was he always the only one he couldn’t quite catalogue? And wasn’t this the reason why he was attracted to him in the first place? Because contrary to his rather ordinary appearance, John was as far from ordinary as Sherlock was.

“Well,” He hedged, closing his eyes briefly. “Hard to forget when he insisted on jolting my memory…”

“What do you mean?”

Now it was Sherlock’s turn to be confused. Surely Sally would’ve put everything in her report including the incident where Moriarty had insinuated himself into Sherlock’s personal space, alluding what sort of fun was to come. Of course, Sherlock was using the term _fun_ somewhat loosely in this context.

His eyes darted from John to Lestrade and back. Obviously Sally hadn’t made a mention of it. He sighed, rubbing his jaw.

“He chained Sally to the wall but he didn’t bother with me because he drugged me. He then proceeded to be especially annoying. I don’t know when he left,” He admitted. “But from the way he was moving, looking at me, it wasn’t hard for those memories to come back. So yes, I do recall his face now but the whole thing is still nothing but a haze.”

And this was the truth. Sherlock had always known about the last disastrous time he had used which had resulted in sexual intercourse of a rather questionable nature. To say he had nightmares would require him to admit to not having any control over his mind, so he would never say such a ludicrous thing, but his dreams had been rather vivid for a while. Of course, there hadn’t been anything but sensations and a few disturbing images but it had been enough to convey the simple message.

Mycroft had been rather put out at the time. Sherlock couldn’t even recall the extent of his injuries because he had gone into withdrawal right after but from what he had been able to deduce, it hadn’t been pretty.

Still, as far as he was concerned, it had been his choice to shoot up so it was his fault he had been this incapacitated in the first place. If he hadn’t been on cloud nine, no one would’ve been able to take advantage. So his fault, right?

“She didn’t put this in her report…” Lestrade mumbled while John narrowed his eyes, staring yet again and Sherlock and really, when would he stop?

“It isn’t relevant,” Sherlock added, ignoring the part of his brain which tried to tell him he was defending Sally Donovan and had the Earth stopped moving?

“Of course this is relevant!” John jumped to his feet, shouting. He paced the room, once, twice, before striding towards Sherlock. “What else do you consider as not relevant?”

Sherlock blinked. What kind of question was this? If it wasn’t relevant, it wasn’t _relevant_! And then, by default, he wouldn’t keep track of it!

“Wait a minute…” John mumbled, grabbing Sherlock by the shoulders and hauling him up to his feet. “You got shot?”

“Yes?” was this a trick question? He couldn’t recall ever feeling this wrong footed before.

“Dam it, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you?” Sherlock frowned, pushing John away. “When should I have told you? When I was unconscious in the hospital or when I was being shot at? You weren’t there. You didn’t call once, did you?”

His phone might be toast, which reminded him, he would have to get a replacement, but surely if Sherlock had tried to reach him and if Sherlock hadn’t replied at all, the man would’ve come looking for him sooner?

John coloured red, not a favourable skin tone for him. “I was mad at you. Still am so I was giving you room to think about you’ve done…”

“What I did?” Sherlock was shouting now. “I didn’t do anything!” he defended himself. “You were the one who walked out in a snit.”

“You lied to me!” John replied, equally incensed. “You knew I cared for you and you only slept with me to ensure I didn’t go away!”

“Mycroft…”

“Oh bloody hell, Sherlock,” John interrupted him. “Since when do you listen to anything your brother has to say?”

“He made a compelling case,” Sherlock answered, anger slowly abating. “And I did tell you afterwards.” His voice dropped a little bit when he added. “And unless you were asleep, you must have noticed I wasn’t exactly unaffected either…”

John blinked. Clearly he hadn’t considered this.

“Boys,” Lestrade interrupted.

“No,” Both men replied, not looking at Lestrade.

Sherlock went a step further by saying. “The drawings proof nothing. Has no impact on anything because the game is now on. So what if Moriarty developed an interested in me years ago. The facts don’t change…”

“Actually,” It was John who answered before Lestrade could. “They do change.”

He gave John a look which screamed _traitor_.

“Sherlock,” John was now rubbing up and down on both of Sherlock’s upper arms, as if he was trying sooth him. “We always assumed he wanted to beat you. Assert that he was smarter than you…”

“So…?”

“If his motives are actually based on a different emotion, wouldn’t this also change how he plays the game? Wouldn’t it change the parameters?”

Sherlock wanted to say _no_ but actually, John might have a point. He tilted his head sideways, considering this. He usually didn’t factor in emotional attachments and he would never have applied any such thinking to Moriarty but John was right. If Moriarty’s motives weren’t just based on besting him, then it also changed his tactics.

“You are right,” he said slowly, admitting his own mistake.

“Come again?”

“Oh don’t be coy,” Sherlock snapped. “I can admit to a mistake and let me put forward, since I wasn’t in my right mind back then, it isn’t so much as mistake as maybe an oversight. And it hasn’t harmed any work yet…”

John opened his mouth but then he shook his head, clearly thinking twice about replying.

“Alright,” Lestrade spoke again. “I think that’s it for now…”

Without looking back, Sherlock strolled out of the room, head held high. John didn’t follow straight away but by the time Sherlock had flanked down a cab, he was right there, again by his side.

“So where to?” John asked and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Home.”

##

“You know, we didn’t actually clear anything up,” John said the moment they were upstairs in their flat. 

Sherlock sighed.

“What I want to know,” John moved into his path, stopping him from going any further. “Is if you are attracted to me and if you have feelings, any kind of feelings for me…”

“John…”

“No,” John shook his head. “Let me finished. I am not asking if you love me because I know you love your work. I am aware that anything or anyone would take second seat to that but if we are going to do this, I want to make a few things clear.”

Sherlock gestured him to continue.

“We either stay friends, like now or we move on and then I want a few concessions from you.”

Sherlock nodded, waiting.

“I want to be able to call this a relationship. I want fidelity on your part and I want your promise that you aren’t sleeping with me in order to _keep me_. I will always be your friend. Sex isn’t required for that.”

“But if we’re just friends, you might get a girl friend and then I would be only a second thought…you wouldn’t be working with me any more because you’d be busy…”

“I’ve had girlfriends since we met. Do you recall?”

Sherlock made a face. How could he forget?

“And has this stopped me from being there when you need me?”

“But you might move out, marry…”

John rolled his eyes. “Life happens, Sherlock. I don’t want to start a relationship with you when you are only in it to keep me here. Can you see how this wouldn’t be fair to me? I am not asking you for anything you can give but on this, I want your honesty.”

Sherlock nodded. He respected John’s wishes. He wanted John to be his and his alone but since John was his friend before anything else, he wasn’t going to manipulate him. Not on something this important. The crux of it was that he wasn’t so sure himself.

John wasn’t asking for love, which was good, but Sherlock didn’t want to promise anything when he couldn’t be sure he would be able to live up to it.

“I value you,” he eventually said. “I am attracted to you which we’ve already proven.” This got him a leer from John which in turn had Sherlock smiling. “And I can’t deny that I don’t want your attention any where by me.”

“I know.” John said. “You were even more atrocious than usually to any of the women I brought over.”

Sherlock frowned. “I cannot promise you something that isn’t in my nature,” he eventually said. “You already know you are more important to me than anyone else. I don’t think I can offer you more than this.”

“I only want your promise that you aren’t sleeping with me to keep me at your side. I accept anything else because I know you but I do not want to be manipulated on this. Can you give me your word that you’re only interested in sex because you are attracted to me and not for any other reason?”

“Yes,” Sherlock instantly said. “I might’ve followed my brother’s advice…”

“But he only opened your eyes to the possibility? Is that it?”

“Yes,” Sherlock admitted. “Without him…without…”

“Without him making you fear I would leave…” John helpfully supplied which got him a glare from Sherlock.

“Without him,” Sherlock chose to say, “I probably wouldn’t have acted on my attraction because…”

“It isn’t in your nature…” John again helpfully supplied.

“You do not have to worry about fidelity on my part,” Sherlock added. “Because you know very well no one has caught my eyes recently. And…”

“Yes, so I got your promise?”

“Yes…”

##

Hands, softly stroking his skin, making him shiver.

Goose bumps breaking out all over, dousing him in cold and yet hot water at the same time.

Ripples of…of _something_ wrecking his body, making his mind stutter and almost coming to a halt.

Hands on his hips; fingers running up his side, comforting him, mapping every inch of him until he wasn’t anything but a quivering mess.

And the most shocking thing? Sherlock enjoyed it.

Now and forever; John was his and more importantly, he was John’s and woe anyone who would come in between them.

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it took so long. I had some personal issues and then time just flew passed me. Also, I had originally planned to add a much more detailed sex scene at the end but apparently neither Sherlock nor John were up for it so it was either post now or sit on this story some more and I decided, I kept you waiting long enough. So sorry if you were waiting for a juicy sex scene!
> 
> You can also find this story over at my LJ account: [HERE](http://kuhekabir-fics.livejournal.com/114595.html#cutid1)


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